War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [84]
“Ah, Bondarenko, friend of my heart,” he said to the hussar who came rushing for his horse. “Give him a cooling down, my friend,” he said with that merry brotherly tenderness with which all fine young men treat everyone when they are happy.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the Ukrainian replied, merrily shaking his head.
“See that you give him a good cooling down!”
Another hussar also rushed to the horse, but Bondarenko had already thrown the reins over the horse’s head. One could see that the junker gave good tips and it was profitable to be of service to him. Rostov stroked the horse’s neck, then his croup, and stopped on the porch.
“Very nice! What a horse he’ll be!” he said to himself and, smiling and holding his saber, ran up the steps, his spurs jingling. The German landlord, in a vest and a cap, holding the fork he was using to clear away dung, peeked out of the cowshed. As soon as he saw Rostov, the German’s face suddenly brightened. He smiled merrily and winked: “Schön, gut Morgen! Schön, gut Morgen!”*182 he repeated, obviously taking pleasure in greeting the young man.
“Schon fleissig!”†183 said Rostov, still with the same joyful, brotherly smile, which never left his animated face. “Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! Kaiser Alexander hoch!”‡184 he addressed the German, repeating words often spoken by the landlord.
The German laughed, came all the way out of the cowshed door, pulled off his cap, and, waving it above his head, cried:
“Und die ganze Welt hoch!”§185
Rostov himself, like the German, waved his peaked cap above his head and, laughing, shouted: “Und vivat die ganze Welt!” Though there was no particular reason for rejoicing either for the German, who was cleaning his cowshed, or for Rostov, who had gone for hay with his section, the two men looked at each other with happy delight and brotherly love, shook their heads as a sign of mutual love, and, smiling, went their way—the German to the cowshed, and Rostov to the cottage he occupied with Denisov.
“How’s the master?” he asked Lavrushka, Denisov’s lackey, a rogue known to the whole regiment.
“Hasn’t been back since evening. Must’ve lost,” replied Lavrushka. “I know for sure, if he wins, he comes early so as to boast, but if he stays away till morning, it means he blew it—and he’ll come angry. Shall I serve coffee?”
“Go on, go on.”
Ten minutes later Lavrushka brought coffee.
“He’s coming,” he said. “Now for trouble.”
Rostov looked out the window and saw Denisov coming home. Denisov was a small man with a red face, shining black eyes, and disheveled black mustaches and hair. He was wearing an unbuttoned dolman, wide pleated trousers ballooning over his boots, and a crumpled hussar cap perched on the back of his head. He was approaching the porch gloomily, his head hanging.
“Lavrushka,” he shouted loudly and crossly. “Well, take it off, blockhead!”
“I am taking it off,” Lavrushka’s voice replied.
“Ah! you’re up already,” said Denisov, going into the room.
“Long ago,” said Rostov. “I already went for hay and saw Fräulein Mathilde.”
“Ah, really! And I blew everything last night, brother, like a son of a bitch!” shouted Denisov, swallowing his r’s. “Such bad luck! Such bad luck!…As soon as you left, it started. Hey, tea!”
Denisov, wincing as if he was smiling and baring his short, strong teeth, began tousling his forest-thick, tangled, bushy black hair with both short-fingered hands.
“The devil prompted me to go to that rat” (the officer’s nickname was “the Rat”), he said, rubbing his forehead and face with both hands. “Can you imagine, not a single good card, not one.”
Denisov took